As one of my favorite fiction character’s Barney Stinson says, “I have one rule”. While he does not literally keep with this phrase, I do. I have one rule that I very strictly adhere to and here it is, my bed is MY BED. This means a few things. It means that while I like the occasional cuddle, I sleep alone. This means that unless there is something keeping me from getting to my bed, I will travel long distances at late hours to get to my bed. This means that when I am tired, I will go to my bed. What does this have to do with anything?

A few nights ago I planned a night with some friends from school. It is Christmas break still and I will be leaving for a service immersion trip to Duran, Ecuador next week so I will be out of touch for a while and I wanted to meet up before the departure. We spent a few hours reuniting, catching up and chatting in my favorite city, Boston. It was lovely. Afterward however, a few friends from home contacted me saying they were not far from me. So I hopped on the Green Line and headed towards Faneuil Hall. I arrived and had a beer and visited with them for about an hour. Anyone familiar with this great city knows its one major flaw. When it comes to late nights and public transportation, the two do not mix. So despite the fun I was having with them, if I wanted to catch the last Red Line back to my car, I was going to have to head out earlier than I would have liked.

As I began to say my goodbyes, they all argued and persisted that I stay with them in Boston. They had two hotel rooms and said it would much more fun to drink and be reckless in the city. Now while I believe that their heavily intoxicated states contributed to how demanding they were becoming, their persistence grew to a frustrating point. They all demanded explanations for me leaving and when I would give them one they would respond, “not good enough,”. But when I finally grabbed my coat and bid adieu, they settled down and said goodbye. Luckily I made the last Blue Line, which brought me to the last Green Line, which brought me to the last Red Line, which brought me to my car, which brought me to my bed. People have laughed at me and thought me to be kidding, but I will go to great lengths to get to my bed. I have stumbled out of apartments at very late hours of the night and walked through torrential down pours to get to my bed. Even with the offer of a comfortable, safe place to stay, I will take the troublesome journey earning me the wonderful prize that is in fact my bed.

My bed is my place. People sit at my desk, my couch, my kitchen table. But my bed is a place for me. It is a sanctuary. It is a place of comfort and solace. It is a place of love and friendship. Some of my best life chats and heart-to-hearts have taken place snuggled in the warmth of a comforter which takes us back to our youth. Some of my biggest fights have occurred sitting on the edge of the bed, where even though the heat of the moment can make this wonderful spot seem retched, it can offer that last little bit of comfort.

Though it is not just my bed where I find comfort. I find comfort in my blankets and pillows too. It is a bit funny to say aloud. But consider the child like mannerisms we as adults reenact in hiding under blankets and clutching our pillows. There have been many mornings that I have woken up, realized that a mistake was made in the previous night and been so aware that the only thing protecting me from facing that truth is the blanket over my head. A roommate is not going to bother me if they believe me to be asleep. By remaining still in the moment under a blanket, we all achieve a moment of invincibility. We are whoever we believe we are. Before we fold over that blanket into just a crumpled addition to dirty laundry, it is our last shield from this harmful and judging world.

The same depth can be attributed to our friend, the pillow. It IS a friend, a companion, someone to help us get out our fears and emotions. We punch them when we are upset and they don’t ask us to stop. We change and adjust them to make ourselves comfortable without considering how they feel. We cry into them. We hold them. We hug them. We claim them. We snuggle with them. We whisper our secrets to them. We hide under them like we do our blankets. We use them to balance our books to help us educate ourselves. We use them to comfort ourselves. We utilize them. They give us peace and rest after agonizing days at work.

I couldn’t tell you where I intended to go when I started writing this entry. I knew I wanted it to be something about my bed. Because it is true. My bed is my place. It is something I would give up a night for. It is something I would cut my fun short in order to get to. It is something I crave daily. It is something that always gives me peace. There is so so much in this world that wants to hurt us and watch us fail. Our beds want no such thing. They want to comfort us after long days. They want to be present when we are hurt so that they can help rejuvenate us. They do not judge us. They do not criticize us. They want to make us happy. They are our truest friend. They do not care if we make a mistake. They are always there to hold us and give us a night of peace. We should all take a lesson from the tremendous amenities that our beds offer us and apply them to our relationships. Are we offering to our friends what our beds offer us? And if for one second you think that your bed offers you little, I dare you to give it up.

While my friends were all pretty bummed that I left, I don’t think they understood, nor will they understand, that I would do anything to get to my bed. It is always there for me, why shouldn’t I be there for it?